


Namjoon's Guide to Finding Angels

by yoongoogles (orphan_account)



Category: GOT7, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Attempt at Humor, Caretaking, Dubious Morality, Historical References, It's minor, Jackson Wang's Party, Jung Hoseok | J-Hope is a Little Shit, Kim Namjoon | RM is a Dork, M/M, No Smut, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Park Jimin (BTS) is an Angel, Recreational Drug Use, sorry lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:55:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24021688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/yoongoogles
Summary: Namjoon does not stop studying. Hoseok's sick of it and drags Namjoon out to a party.A party where Jimin is flirting and Namjoon is tripping.
Relationships: Kim Namjoon | RM/Park Jimin
Comments: 1
Kudos: 23





	Namjoon's Guide to Finding Angels

**Author's Note:**

> dubcon on the drug use; joon's aware of what's happening, he just doesn't feel the need to stop it. there wasn't a tag for it.  
> this is a work of fiction do not come for me hoseok just wanted him to have a good time and he gets his punishment for it
> 
> anyway have this it's been sitting in my docs for over a year

  
In hindsight, everything that happened that night could be entirely and irrevocably blamed on Jung Hoseok.

  
Namjoon was more than happy to sit this one out; he’d been studying for about 26 hours straight in an effort to actually pass the only class that’s been giving him issues this semester: American History Intro to Civil War. He’s not even sure why he decided to pursue a minor in American studies, just knows it might come in handy during his UN internship specifically stationed in Washington D.C. next year. He’s already regretting his third coffee with as many shots of espresso by the time one Jung Hoseok quite literally breaks into his apartment via the locked sliding glass door (Namjoon has no genuine idea how the fuck he learned to do that, is sure he doesn’t want to know anyway) and drags him bodily by the collar straight out of it.   
  
_ “If America won’t suck your dick then why are you paying so much attention to it? The Confederates still lose in 1832 or whatever.” _ _  
_ _  
_ _ “It was 1865-” _ _  
_ _  
_ _ “I will personally start World War III so the only thing that gets your dick wet ever again is radioactive saliva from the mouth of a mutant.” _   
  
So he went to Jackson Wang’s stupid fucking party. And he sat in the corner next to a plant, holding a solo cup of straight Crown, and he resolutely did not meet the eyes of anyone around him for a solid thirty minutes. Instead, he quietly muttered fun facts about Abraham Lincoln to the fern decked out in colorful Christmas lights, even though it’s August. There’s a setting that flashes slowly and it hurts his eyes a little bit, but he’s vibing with it. He’s just telling it about the Emancipation Proclamation in 1863 when Hoseok crouches down in front of him, one finger stretched intimately close to his lips, and a forbidden smile plastered over his stupid face.   
  
“Joonie, say  _ ‘ah’ _ .” And, for whatever reason, he just does. Has given up trying to avoid whatever Hoseok wants him to do.    
  
The tip of Hoseok’s thumb swipes across his tongue quickly, smearing just a bit of spit on his bottom lip. He smiles brilliantly, pats the side of Namjoon’s face, and calls him a  _ good boy  _ before disappearing into the throng of bodies again. It stings a little bit in the face of a bold lie but hey, who is Namjoon supposed to complain to, the plant?   
  
Namjoon registers a small piece of paper disintegrating in his mouth and swallows as much of the Crown as he can. Hoseok gave him something awfully similar to what he’s pretty sure is a tab of acid, but he can’t find it in him to care. He accidentally drains the cup. He’s pretty sure  _ September  _ by _ Earth, Wind & Fire _ is blasting in his eardrums as his eyes catch on Park Jimin in his signature leather hot pants leaning inconspicuously against a wall and flirting with Yoongi. Jimin giggles, his whole body bending in Yoongi’s direction as he lightly touches his elbow. Namjoon’s back falls roughly against the wall and he kicks his legs out in front of him as he watches the display, mumbling along to the song.    
  
_ ~Holding hands with your heart to see you. Only blue talk and love.~  _   
  
Namjoon’s feeling very Sixteen Candles by the time Jackson finds him. They make easy conversation while Namjoon’s eyes drift steadily back to Yoongi and Jimin, getting closer still. Yoongi’s face disappears behind Jimin’s to whisper in his ear, body arching into him as Jimin’s hand wraps around his bicep to pull him in, and Namjoon involuntarily lets out a world weary sigh. Jackson follows his line of vision and mutters an apology, clapping him twice on the back and taking the empty cup only to bring it back filled to the brim. Namjoon’s head feels a little slower when he accepts the cup and brings it to his mouth, refreshing in the taste of ice cold water. Jackson senses he’s not about continuing their talk about the rap industry and makes a quick escape after he deems Namjoon okay alone.

  
Time begins to warp before he’s really aware of it. He’s tuned out most of the mind numbing talking around him, entirely zoned in on music thrumming from the surround sound speakers placed around the living room. Who the hell is in charge of the playlist here? Someone passes him a joint and he’s not sure if he hits it or not. He’s now informed the plant about Abraham Lincoln’s untimely assassination.    
  
“Hyungie!” Two sweaty palms land themselves on his bare knees, covering the bones almost entirely. The rings on them are warm and the metal kind of looks like the shine you’d see in an anime, or a 90’s twitter edit. It’s fucking fascinating. He’s busy contemplating how this metal could have light qualities and if that’s a harvestable means for profit when the hands suddenly belong to a person peering up at him as well.    
  
It’s Jimin and he’s floating. His perfect hair, an intoxicatingly bright orange this month, is swirling in the air as though he’s underwater. Are they underwater? God, Jimin is so pretty, he could really be a mermaid. Merman? Is that the right terminology? Namjoon doesn’t want to offend the pretty milkmaid.    
  
“Oh, god, Jiminie.” Namjoon expels all the air from his lungs as he tries to run his hand through Jimin’s floating hair. Layers are pretty. Jimin always has so many layers in his hair. How do barbers do that? What kind of textbook is there to tell someone how to make hair look like waves overlapping from the view of an airplane? Namjoon’s gonna be on one of those soon! A big one! “Jimin, I’m so fucking scared of planes.”    
  
Jimin’s smile fades carefully, as though he really has to think about letting it dim. That’s not right, Namjoon thinks. Jimin’s smile could power half of Seoul if he was some kind of electric demon. He giggles at his idea of Jimin as a human taser.    
  
“Jiminie! You’re like Pikachu! Do the thing!” His hands cup Jimin’s cheeks, pressing until his lips pucker out like a duck. “Pika Pika!” Jimin’s smile is entirely gone now and his forehead wrinkles but Namjoon doesn’t seem to take notice, is really focused on the shiny gloss over Jimin’s ridiculously big lips. Always so pink, always so plush, always so unavailable to him.    
  
Jimin’s eyes widen as Namjoon stops laughing, drops his hands back to fold in his lap. The knuckles of his left hand dip into the water in his cup balanced between his thighs. It’s actually kind of crushed, spilling over onto his jeans and creating big dark patches. He doesn’t even feel it.   
  
“Hyung, are you okay?” Jimin’s fingers tap a rhythm on his hands, look long and slender and cartoony but in a cute way. Jimin’s fingers aren’t really that long, how did he get them that long? Last time Namjoon checked his pinky looked like someone might’ve smashed it in a book. Can you stretch fingers out to make them longer? Would Jimin let him try? He’s always complaining about his tiny fingers. He can fix it now, Namjoon can fix it for him. 

  
Wait, Namjoon can’t touch Jimin. That’s Yoongi-hyung’s job. Something thick and slimy crawls up his throat and he can’t stand the way Jimin’s looking at him, like he’s a lost and kicked puppy out in the cold. Namjoon’s not even a little bit chilly right now.   
  
“Ah, Jimin-ah. Have you met Fernando?” His hand sweeps across his lap to reach the plant, caress one single leaf. Holy fuck this is an extremely soft plant, who knew they were made this soft?    
  
“Hyung are you making puns right now?” Jimin sounds a little more amused now, less concerned. “I didn’t realize you’ve been spending so much time with Seokjin-hyung.” 

  
The lights shift immediately to a dark and pretty purple, startling Namjoon into a thousand yard stare as the colorful fern dances next to him. It reminds him of the color of Jimin’s silk sheets, his hair fanned out along the pillow cases he insisted on getting for “frizz control”. He’s only felt them one time, only gotten to roll around in them and savor the feeling of  _ Jimin  _ engulfing him once before. He’d failed an important midterm and Jimin had tucked him in up to his chin, kissed his forehead and left a glass of water next to the bed. That might be when Namjoon realized his crush is Titanic sized and the iceberg had finally breached the hull. 

He rubs a leaf between two fingers and nods. “Fernando has pretty colors, don’t you think, Jiminie? I didn’t tell him about the abolishment of slavery for nothing.” 

Jimin’s stupid chubby Cupid hands with the anime metal physically turn him to face Jimin again. Jimin looks sad. The shimmery aura Namjoon had been so infatuated with is starting to glitch out, like it can’t decide if it should keep powering him or not. His hair is low and less flowy, settling for moving slightly around the curve of his ears. “Jimin, are you, by chance, a milkmaid?” He whispers, savors the feeling of Jimin’s satin fingertips gliding across the expanse of his cheek. He really meant to say mermaid, but it seems too late to correct himself, so he just lets it be. It’s the same thing anyway, right?

“Hey, it’s okay. Do you want some milk, hyung?” Jimin’s angel cheek is smushed into the side of Namjoon’s bare knee as he grins up at him, dense with sparkles like his teeth are made of diamonds. When he blinks, Namjoon catches the hint of a peachy eyeshadow dancing over Jimin’s lids. He doesn’t stop himself from touching this time, finds he simply can’t control his own muscles. He watches his own thumb rolls across the closed lid of Jimin’s right eye, careful not to smear the magic too much. When he inspects his thumb and finds not a speck of residue, he’s entirely convinced that he’s been right all along - Jimin is some kind of beautiful inhuman that has walked among him for years, has taken care of him on worse nights than this, has read to him and cried to him and laughed with him. Funny how Namjoon’s not even mad that he’s been deceived this whole time.

“Do you know I know that you’re an angel? Is that why you’re so nice to me?” Namjoon’s mouth works of it’s own accord just as his hand did, but Jimin doesn’t look very upset at this revelation. Whatever Hoseok had given him just allowed him to see the world for how it really is; he’s peeled back the layers Jimin hides behind and peeked inside and the mystery of the whole thing feels like puzzle pieces falling into place. Jimin’s bottom lip is caught on a particularly bony spot of Namjoon’s knee and he feels sorry about it. 

“I’m an angel?” Jimin’s right hand slides up Namjoon’s thigh, lands right at the juncture where his shirt tucks into his waistband. “You think I’m an angel?”

“I  _ know _ you’re an angel.” Namjoon corrects, finds that his confession has brought the brightness back to Jimin’s shiny outline. “And I love you so  _ goddamn _ much.” He watches his own fingers travel his leg to Jimin’s arm wrapped around his thigh, tugging at the invisible hairs near his elbow. “Can hyung have some banana milk, Mr. Angel Milkman?” 

“Yeah, baby.” Jimin’s stupid lips press into the space between Namjoon’s knuckles before he extracts himself from Namjoon’s earthly figure. With vague disassociation pinging around his skull, he watches Jimin slowly get to his feet and turn his back on Namjoon. Suddenly, everything that Jimin’s angel powers had been blocking out smack into Namjoon fully, leaving him a gasping mess as sound and lights and  _ so many bodies  _ come to the forefront of his awareness. His breath comes in waves he can’t seem to sync with, so he turns in his chair until the only thing he can see are the lights adorning Fernando. Fernando’s lights change in time with how he thinks he should be breathing, so he tries to gain back some control as blue dips into purple again.

He’s falling back into reciting things he knows about the night of Abraham Lincoln’s murder, “ _ He just walked right up behind him, point blank to the back of the head. Imagine firing that bodyguard-”  _ when Jimin returns from wherever he’d fucked off to, and he has banana milk in a neat looking glass with a metal straw in it. The straw has the same shiny effect as Jimin’s rings - this is also a safe thing. 

“Thank you.” Cream and small chunks of banana fill his mouth and he hums happily, eyes crescenting down at the bottle. 

“Alright, sweetheart, you gotta get up for me, okay?” Jimin lets him drink about half the bottle before he gets an arm around Namjoon’s waist and pretty much effortlessly lifts him out of the chair he’d grown so intimate with. He really thought he’d become one with it, honestly. Jimin’s got some super human strength on top of being a whole ass angel and how did Namjoon even last this long? 

Namjoon goes limp in Jimin’s strong hold, let’s himself be led through the steaming crowd to the crisp, cool air outside. The night sky has an oily look to it, and he finds it very aesthetically pleasing if not a little nauseating. Pretty though. Namjoon stops on the second step to the bottom of the front porch, takes a huge gasp of clean air, and promptly throws up literally everything he’s ingested in the last 48 hours ( it’s not much, and the stomach acid burns the way up his throat until he’s choking on it).

  
  


~

  
  
  


He wakes up wrapped in slippery sheets, curtains shielding out any detectable light from the outside. There’s the faint glow of red from a digital clock suspended in midair in the corner of the room, but he can’t read the numbers. He touches his face and doesn’t feel the wire of his glasses, can’t even find the divets they usually create on the bridge of his nose. Blindly, he reaches around the bed until his hand smacks audibly into solid skin, slick with clammy sweat. He freezes. The wall of body groans and arches back into his touch, muscles underneath shifting until he can feel that his hand has landed right in the center of someone’s shoulder blades. He doesn’t remember going home with anyone last night, isn’t sure how he’d been so irresponsible. His mouth is dry as a bone and his head is pounding and he just wants to go  _ home.  _

“S’not morning yet.” He snatches his hand back as though burned by spoken word, cradles it carefully to his bare chest (shirtless? He’s shirtless? Fuck, why can’t he remember last night?) The body beside him turns over to be closer, sidles right up against his front until they’re pressed together. It’s not unpleasant, it’s just a hair too warm on his sweating body, but he can’t pull away. He’d know that voice anywhere. 

“Jimin-ah?” There’s a soft  _ mmm  _ in response as lips attach to his neck, move with purpose very slowly. His mind provides a helpful vision of a bioluminescent creature blazing through the depths of the sea with its changing colors and he giggles in response. Yeah, that’s exactly what he imagines this feeling would look like. “I’m going to kill Hoseok-hyung.” Jimin sighs against his skin, leaves a wet spot where he’d just been sucking on Namjoon’s neck. 

  
  


“You really think I’m an angel?” Namjoon’s eyes have adjusted to the dark to see two shiny orbs staring at him in the dark, half lidded and drowsy. He’s not sure how long they’ve been asleep, but he’d bet it hasn’t been very long. Sugar plums might as well be dancing  _ The Nutcracker _ around Jimin’s head in the dark, he has absolutely no idea what’s going on. Jimin lifts up just enough to lean forward and kiss Namjoon delicately, pushing against his mouth as though he might not get the chance ever again and is trying to map it all out. It feels like fireworks and bells and all the obnoxiously romantic things Jungkook is always talking about. 

“Hyung thinks you’re better than an angel. Go to sleep.” Namjoon pulls Jimin’s head towards his chest, folds him in until they’re comfortably resting together. This is not the first or even the fifteenth time they’ve cuddled - Namjoon knows exactly how Jimin likes it and how to make him feel small the way he needs, it just feels really different this time. He’s not sure if that has to do with that he’s still tripping or all the kisses. His mind is tangled up in a web of thoughts, things he doesn’t have the energy to sort through right now. He decides to give in to the temptation of Jimin’s low breaths and slips back into sleep. 

  
  


~   
  
  


Jung Hoseok can’t breathe that well. 

“Okay, how about I buy dinner and do your dance laundry  _ for a whole month _ ?” Hoseok’s screeching under Jimin’s weight, placed in a loose headlock with those thick thighs wrapped diligently around his waist. “Jesus  _ fuck  _ you’re like an anaconda!” 

“Don’t you dare start singing.” Jimin glares up at Yoongi, perched on the arm of the couch next to an amused Namjoon.

“Park Jimin if you don’t fucking let me go right this instant-” Hoseok thrashes, gets pinned down to the floor with a little more force than necessary. Namjoon can faintly hear Yoongi say, “ _ Gun in my purse, bitch I came just to kill”  _ to himself as he scrolls through his phone. 

“Tell hyung you’ll never drug him again.” Jimin demands, jerking Hoseok’s head back playfully. Hoseok complies, tossing glossy, pleading eyes up at Namjoon. “Tell hyung you’re sorry and you owe him everything this world has to offer and you can never repay back your debt, may the reaper himself come and collect your soul.” 

Hoseok has already apologized in the form of an entire bag full of curly fries and an intense sobbing session. He feels awful that Namjoon wasn’t really in the headspace for an acid trip. Jimin had screamed until his voice was hoarse and he was so red Namjoon thought he might actually implode. And then Hoseok had taken them all out to dinner and everything was fine. 

It’s just, he made a joke about Jimin growing feathers because he overheard the whole “angel” thing. So obviously, now he’s knotted up in Jimin’s legs in the middle of Namjoon’s hallway. 

Jimin didn’t really think the whole thing was very funny.

“I forgive you.” Namjoon shrugs at Jimin’s insistence, a little worried at the color Hoseok’s face is turning.

Jimin releases his airlock grip on Hoseok with a hissing noise, begins reciting some chant the teenagers who run the rides at Lotte World tell people as they exit.  _ Thank you, calmly step out of the car to your right, find yourself well and return happily.  _

Hoseok lays starfished in Namjoon’s hallway, staring up at the ceiling and taking big, exaggerated breaths. His eyes find Namjoon’s face when he leans into his space just a bit more. Yoongi’s on the third chorus of Anaconda. No one is paying attention. 

Jimin’s back on his feet, hugging Namjoon from behind with arms clasped protectively around the soft parts of his belly. Hoseok pants, lifts a single finger to point directly at Namjoon’s forehead.

“Next time I’m leaving you to suffer under the weight of America’s bullshit by yourself you miserable son of a bitch.” 

**Author's Note:**

> i've never done acid can you tell
> 
> twt @yoontoagoblin  
> all i do is cry over hongjoong's selfies


End file.
